


His Nightingale

by OnlyOneKingLoki



Category: Benedict Cumberbatch - Fandom
Genre: Benedict Cumberbatch/Reader - Freeform, F/M, Fic Using a Poem, Fluff, Nightingale by Keats, poetryfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-07
Updated: 2014-04-07
Packaged: 2018-01-18 13:44:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1430659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnlyOneKingLoki/pseuds/OnlyOneKingLoki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Benedict sees a girl in the cafe he frequents and says hello. Fluffiness ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Nightingale

**Author's Note:**

> *Disclaimer: I do not own the poem Nightingale by John Keats, nor do I intend any offense by its use. I only used small parts of the work, and none of those (in bold) are mine.*
> 
> Enjoy!

London was so peaceful in the evenings, at least for (y/n). She’d finally hit the big time and was a famous theater actress. After rehearsals and performances, she always went to her favorite little café for a cup of tea. That was where she had met him. Tall, muscular, soft-spoken, and intelligent, Benedict Cumberbatch had noticed her immediately when she walked in on a Wednesday. Her brown hair swirled around her shoulders as she scanned the small number of patrons looking for a suitable table near the window. She spotted one and carried her tea over to recline peacefully, gazing out into the streets that were dimly lit by the sunset.  


(Y/n) was sitting very close to him, Benedict noted with a small smile. Should he get up and go talk to her? No, she seemed much too deep in her own thoughts for him to interrupt. Perhaps, if he was lucky, he would see her again sometime. As he stood to leave, (y/n) looked over in his direction, noticing him for the first time that night. She recognized him, of course, so she gave him a kind smile. She did not, however, want to appear as though she was one of those obsessive fans, so she allowed her thoughts to meander back to her current production and her eyes to wander back to the streets. Rather than leave, however, Ben had taken (y/n)’s smile as an invitation to say ‘hello’, which he did. Their small greeting spiraled into a fully blown, several-hours-long conversation in which they discovered a mutual interest in books, theater, and all manner of topics.  


Two years later, (y/n) was in her small flat rehearsing a song for her newest part. _A bit of practice will do me some good,_ she thought. _Besides, Ben won’t be here for another hour, and I need to be ready for the first show!_ So she practiced, her voice caressing each note as a if it were a jewel in need of a gentle polish. She lost herself in her songs so thoroughly that an hour had passed without her realizing it. Ben knocked, but she was singing too loudly to hear; he took a great liberty by allowing himself inside when he heard her singing. Her voice sounded like liquid honey to him, and, thus, he couldn’t resist the temptation to come closer. _All the better to hear your voice,_ he thought he would use as an argument if he found her angry with his entry.  


Ben closed the door quietly behind him, and followed the sound of his girlfriend’s voice to her bedroom. Unbidden, he found the words of Keats floating through his brain:  


**‘Tis not through envy of thy happy lot,**  
 **But being too happy in thine happiness,**  
 **That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees,**  
 **In some melodious plot**  
 **Of beechen green, and shadow numberless,**  
 **Singest of summer in full-throated ease.**  


 _That was from ‘Nightingale’,_ he thought with amusement. A nightingale she was, indeed: (y/n) sang every opportunity that she got, including while she was in the shower. Ben always loved to hear her sing, but the times that she let herself go, the times she thought her singing was private were always his favorite. They were beautiful, but they were few and far between. He always felt that she was holding back a little, subconsciously, of course, as though she was afraid of embarrassing herself.  


As she hit each note flawlessly, Benedict closed his eyes and savored the feeling of her lovely voice tickling his ears and setting his senses alight. He could sit and listen to her sing or speak every moment of every day for the rest of his life and still be content—no ecstatically happy—to do nothing else. Ben loved (y/n). He loved her so much, and he wanted to be with her forever. That was why he had planned a date for tonight. Still, her voice flowed onward, and so did the Keats in Ben’s brain.  


**I cannot see what flowers are at my feet,**  
 **Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs,**  
 **But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet**  
 **Wherewith the seasonable month endows**  
 **The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild;**  
 **White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine;**  
 **Fast-fading violets cover’d up in leaves;**  
 **And mid-May’s eldest child,**  
 **The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine,**  
 **The murmurous haunt of flies on Summer eves.**  


The last note faded away, and Ben started to clap. (Y/n) turned sharply, clearly startled that she had an audience, but when she saw who it was, she walked over to him blushing slightly.  


“Darling, you sing so beautifully,” Ben said as he enfolded her in his arms and kissed the top of her head. She smiled against his chest and laughed softly.  


“Thanks, but I didn’t really know that I had an audience,” she said pulling back a bit to lean up and give Ben a kiss. Afterwards, she lightly slapped his arm in mock anger, and he laughed happily. A single phrase invaded his mind this time.  


**Darkling I listen**  


“I suppose I did deserve that for sneaking in, but in my defense you were singing so beautifully that it would’ve been a crime to stop you by knocking any louder,” Ben stated with his hands raised in surrender and his most adorable smile adorning his lips.  


“Well, I guess I can forgive you…this time, anyway,” she said blushing at his compliment and turning her gaze to her shoes. After two years he was still able to make her go bright red with just a glance. _God, I love him,_ she thought even as he placed a finger under her chin and lifted her head until she was unable to avoid his eyes.  


“I mean it, darling,” Ben said leaning down to catch her lips in a searing kiss. (Y/n) twined her arms around his neck and drew him even closer, and his hands cupped her face. After what seemed like a lifetime, they finally pulled apart and rested their foreheads against each other. “I love you so much, my beautiful girl…my (y/n).”  


“I love you, too, Ben,” she replied kissing his nose.  


Later that evening, Ben and (y/n) found themselves seated in the very café where they had first met. It was the same table, and Ben felt the same butterflies in his stomach as he slowly took (y/n)’s hand and knelt to the ground pulling out a ring box from inside his pants pocket.  


“Will you marry me?” He asked with tears in his eyes. When she said 'yes' and he had placed the ring onto her finger, his mind completed the dreamlike evening with a single phrase more that couldn’t have been any more accurate:  


**Do I wake or sleep?**


End file.
